


Permutations

by breathtaken



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic, Explicit Sexual Content, Fivesome - F/M/M/M/M, Multi, OT5, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>While even he doesn't have the skills to create an orgy from thin air, Aramis always knows an opening when he sees one - and exactly how to use it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No pun intended, of course.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permutations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoeFaraday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeFaraday/gifts).



> Special thanks to [cherryfeather](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfeather) for her assistance with aromantic Athos, and of course to [queenaramis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofbearisland/pseuds/queenaramis) for being a terrible enabler and distracting me from all the other stuff I'm supposed to be writing. ;)

While even he doesn't have the skills to create an orgy from thin air, Aramis always knows an opening when he sees one - and exactly how to use it. 

No pun intended, of course.

Winking lewdly when Constance says that all she wants in life right now is a bit more adventure is pretty much par for the course, and if that was all it took to get him laid then he doesn't think he'd ever get out of bed.

No, the opening itself is definitely Athos' fault, for saying in that slightly bored-sounding voice he has when he's overcompensating for an interest he doesn't want to reveal, "And what exactly makes you think that would even be a workable idea?"

Athos has known him long enough, he should really realise that challenging Aramis' ability to conduct a successful sexual encounter, even among the most unlikely participants, is akin to dangling a piece of raw meat in front of a hungry lion.

Aramis arches an eyebrow, clearing his throat with relish. Athos is about to get  _schooled_.

"Would you like a list?" he retorts, with his best bitchy face firmly on. "Because Porthos is up for pretty much anything, as am I, and Constance was just saying she needs more adventure in her life - while looking at d'Artagnan, as if they've talked about something like this before. And while you're a little backward in coming forward, even you can't have failed to notice the adoring looks that our resident youngster has been giving you for weeks, at least."

The challenging look he gives Athos at that says  _I'm not going to air your issues in public, but you know that I know you might not say no to this._

D'Artagnan, very carefully not looking at Athos, murmurs, "I might be a bit bicurious."

Constance reaches for his hand, and glares at Aramis. 

Aramis smiles his most charming smile as he pushes another beer towards d'Artagnan, and says, "And personally, to put my own cards on the table - I think you're all gorgeous, and I'd be honoured should any of you choose to grace my bed, in any combination."

"As you've said many times," Athos drawls; but Aramis has a sharp eye, and hears the slight tension in his tone, notes how tightly his fingers are clutching the stem of his wine glass.

Aramis likes to think of himself as having certain methods; one of which is that he doesn't push. He finds people he likes and is honest and charming at them, and then he sits back and waits for them to flock to him, which they often do. And while it may mean that he occasionally loses out, he reasons that it's better that way than expending large amounts of energy on people who aren't quite ready for someone like him. 

If someone asked him at this moment, he would say he expected that this would be one of those times. That Constance would roll her eyes and Porthos would feel sorry for d'Artagnan and change the subject, and that it would never be mentioned again.

But then he catches the look that passes between Constance and d'Artagnan, that look of silent negotiation that he knows all too well - and he realises that the game is on after all.

While Aramis is not the most patient of people, he can be patient in this; and so he raises an eyebrow at Porthos and receives an enthusiastic grin in return before studying his rum and coke, counting to five in his head until he hears Constance say, in a voice clear as a bell, "Alright then, what exactly are you proposing?"

_Businesslike,_ Aramis decides, he's going to enjoy this even more than he'd realised.

"In short, that we all retire upstairs in search of orgasms," he replies simply.  "I really hadn't given it any more thought than that."

It's only when Athos says, "What?" and Aramis looks up in confusion before realising that Athos isn't looking at him at all, but rather at d'Artagnan, that he realises he's missed something.

"You -" d'Artagnan looks for a moment as though his nerves will get the better of him, but ploughs bravely on. "Well. You... don't. Do you?"

"I don't  _date_ ," Athos clarifies, leaning back in his chair with studied casualness. "But I do fuck. Occasionally." 

"Oh," is all that d'Artagnan can manage in response, before busying himself with his beer.

Aramis has to suppress a smile. It's rather sweet, really.

Nobody says anything for a moment after that, and Aramis spots the tipping point with the ease of long practice, knows that it's up to him to make this happen if he wants it; and so he stands, slowly and deliberately, and walks around to lean against the table next to Constance's chair, his back to Athos as he takes her hand and turns it over to place a kiss in the centre of her palm, never breaking eye contact. "May I?" he asks, his gaze flickering between Constance and d'Artagnan; though after a moment, it's Constance who nods.

"You may," she replies, and Aramis had expected a little more hesitation but he's surprised by the steel in her voice, surprised and charmed by it. He loves a woman who knows what she wants, and he's only now beginning to imagine what fun he's going to have letting her take charge of him, images already flashing through his mind like a flip-book.

He promptly sits himself down on Constance's lap, facing away from d'Artagnan, clasping his arms behind her neck as he leans in to kiss her softly on the lips.

He keeps it closed-mouthed, fairly tame, before pulling back to look at her and then d'Artagnan, to check that nobody's having any second thoughts; but when he sees Constance's eyes wide and d'Artagnan's dark with interest he turns back to Constance, ignoring everyone else in the room for now and getting himself comfortable on her lap, brushing a speculative thumb along the line of her neck and making her shudder as he kisses her deeply this time, opening her mouth with his and coaxing her tongue into play.

When he hears Porthos' voice behind him, a lot closer than it was before, saying "Go on then," before he feels hands - light, tentative hands, d'Artagnan's hands - on his hips, and a mouth kissing the exposed nape of his neck below his hairline, sharp with two-day stubble, Aramis lets his eyelids droop heavy and groans against Constance's lips as though he just can't help himself, before turning to Athos and giving him his best pleading look, like he's starving for it, like he just couldn't imagine living without Athos in his bed, and holding out a hand.

Aramis has learned all too well during the years of their acquaintance that when Athos says he's aromantic, he means that a lot of things that move other people simply don't move him. While Aramis knows he cares more deeply for the four of them than for anyone else alive, that's hardly the same as falling in love. The idea of anyone actually falling for him, that Aramis himself finds so appealing, seems to just terrify him; but what  _can_  succeed where other approaches fail is the offer of a shared experience, and the promise of his place in it.

Aramis' lips at Constance's neck, one hand sweeping her hair off her shoulder, d'Artagnan's hands on Aramis' hips and Porthos doing Aramis doesn't even know what, he's lost track of Porthos entirely - and a hand held out to Athos, inviting him in.

Athos doesn't say anything - of course he doesn't - but the moment his gaze goes sharp and dark is enough of an answer.

Aramis is well aware, of course, that Athos rarely seeks out the same partners twice - as he confessed once in a moment of drunken honesty, mostly for fear that they'll fall for him however upfront he is about his orientation, and Aramis knows he's included in that. He falls, it's true, at least a little for everyone he cares for; but he suspects that with the way he is, he has something different he can offer Athos, something that won't be unwanted, and he's been trying to figure out for months how to earn the opportunity to show it.

The answer, it turns out, is  _all_ of them. Not just Aramis and Athos, but everybody, together, meeting each other's needs.

He turns round at a sudden, strangled squawk from behind him, to see that Porthos has picked d'Artagnan up out of his chair and slung him over his shoulder, ignoring his wildly-flailing limbs.

He grins at Aramis. "Your room, I take it?" he asks, and carries d'Artagnan off like some sort of hunter claiming his prize, without waiting for a response. 

Aramis decides it's  _incredibly_ sexy.

When he looks around the table, he's glad to see that its remaining occupants are looking as amused as he is.

"Let's give them a few minutes," he murmurs conspiratorially, "let Porthos break him in. Unless you think he needs you, Constance?"

"Oh, I think he'll be just fine," she smiles back, an edge of wickedness to it. "Once he gets over his initial shyness, d'Artagnan's up for pretty much anything." 

"I'm glad to hear it," Aramis replies, running a hand beneath her jumper and fluttering bare fingers along her side, making her giggle.

"And you?"

Aramis doesn't know if it was supposed to sound pointed, but something about Athos' tone rubs him up the wrong way; and he finds his hands tightening protectively against Constance's body, as he shoots a warning look across the table.

Athos at least has the courtesy to look a little chagrined. "I'm sorry. I only meant - to ask whether you would welcome my involvement. I know Aramis would, but - that's hardly representative."

_I've dropped the ball_ , Aramis realises, in a moment of clarity. Too many bloody variables, that's what it is, too many permutations; and for all the pains he's taken to work everyone into the swirling vortex of his affection, he's missed what may be the most crucial point of them all. 

Athos and Constance never really talk about how they met, or what their friendship was before Constance met d'Artagnan and d'Artagnan met Athos and then Aramis and Porthos got swept up into that wonderful whirlwind of belonging, so it's easy for Aramis to forget; but they've known each other perhaps as long as Athos has known Aramis and Porthos, and Aramis simply can't predict whether their friendship has room for something like this.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait long for his answer.

"Athos. Stand up," Constance says seriously, shoving at Aramis a little to indicate he should get off her lap; and as he gets clear she walks around him and stops in front of Athos, reaching up to take his face in her hands. "I want this. If you do?"

Athos doesn't reply, but any last reticence in him seems to vanish - and he pulls Constance close, ducking his head to kiss her fiercely, the passion of his movements at odds with the propriety of his hands on her waist, never straying.

Aramis is just content to stand and watch for a few moments, the sight of Athos when he truly opens up and lets go beautiful to him; and he idly wonders how Constance is feeling beneath the force of Athos' desire, the thoughts of what's going to come. Whether she's wet already, whether there's room for him to unbutton those tight-looking jeans and slide his hand inside her knickers, and discover it for himself. Whether she'd let him bring her off like this, fully-clothed in Athos' arms.

He steps over to them only a little reluctantly, puts one hand in the small of each of their backs. "While I hate to interrupt such an appealing display, I think it's time to rejoin the others," he says smoothly, giving them both a little push in the direction of the open door.

He follows them up the stairs, watches Athos walk through his still-open bedroom door - and when Constance stops dead in the doorway, Aramis wraps his arms around her stomach and leans his head on her shoulder to watch the show.

And  _God_ , it's even better than he would have imagined: d'Artagnan's stretched out beneath Porthos, half-pinned by his body, one arm curled beneath his own pillow and the other clutching ineffectually at the planes of Porthos' back as he explores d'Artagnan's body, rucking his T-shirt up to his armpits before skirting along the waistband of his jeans, rocking the heel of his hand over d'Artagnan's crotch and making him arch up into the touch with a hiss, seeking more, harder.

"Mm, well you were right about d'Artagnan finding his feet," Aramis purrs into Constance's ear, pushing her jumper up to rest his hands against her bare stomach, both their eyes on Athos as after a moment's hesitation, he goes to sit down on the edge of the mattress, d'Artagnan breaking temporarily free of Porthos' hold to surge up like a wave and pull Athos into a hard, enthusiastic kiss.

"I'm normally right about these things," Constance replies a little breathlessly, as Aramis' hands start to wander, exploring the skin of her stomach and her ribs, skirting up to the underwire of her bra, making his intentions clear.

The trio on the bed have shifted so that d'Artagnan's lying in Athos' arms, his T-shirt stripped off and flung to the floor, leaving him shirtless; and Porthos still has d'Artagnan half-pinned as Athos mouths at his neck and shoulder, Porthos' hand reaching down to unbutton his jeans, d'Artagnan gasping and bucking as he meets their eyes in the doorway.

"I reckon he'd like to watch you while he comes apart," Aramis says, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he finally runs his hand up over Constance's bra cup, pushing inside the moulded fabric and running his fingers over her nipple, making her moan. "I reckon he'd like to watch you coming apart as well. Why don't we make that happen for you both, hmm?"

D'Artagnan groans wordlessly as Porthos pushes a hand inside his jeans.

Aramis slides his hand out of Constance's bra and around her back to deftly undo the clasp, before pushing both his hands back beneath the underwire, pulling it away from her body so that he can cup both her breasts in his hands, her head falling back onto his shoulder as she moans, exposing her throat.

"No, no, you're supposed to be watching," he chides, walking her forwards into the room and kicking the door shut, leaning them both back against his wardrobe so there's less distance between them and the others. "And they're going to give us something to look at, aren't you, boys?"

"Mm, hips up, d'Artagnan," Porthos encourages, tapping his side for emphasis, "let's get these jeans down."

Never one to do things by halves, Porthos hooks his thumbs in d'Artagnan's boxers and pulls everything unceremoniously down to his knees before wrapping a hand around his exposed cock; and Athos has a hand in d'Artagnan's hair, Aramis notices, and d'Artagnan's eyes are heavy-lidded and intent on the two of them, on Aramis' hands disappearing beneath Constance's jumper, rolling her nipples between thumb and finger until she's moaning with every movement.

"Oh,  _Constance_ ," Aramis murmurs, punctuating his words with a sharp squeeze. "If you'd told us he was this beautiful all over, I'd have suggested this sooner."

And he's right: d'Artagnan is exquisite, the way he's stretched out beneath Porthos' bulk only accentuating his leanness, the long lines of his body and his slim hips, the perfectly-proportioned cock curving up from closely-trimmed hair enough to make Aramis' mouth water from wanting to taste it.

_Next time_ , he promises himself, though he's not more than a little regretful. This is going to be beautiful to watch, after all.

D'Artagnan's groaning now as Porthos gets a steady rhythm going on his cock, angling both hand and body for their benefit; and Athos' eyes seem to be as often on Constance in Aramis' arms as they are on d'Artagnan, though the sight of their fingers twined together next to Athos' hip just about takes Aramis' breath away.

He turns his head to kiss Constance's cheek, coaxing her lips round to meet his, as his hands fall from her breasts and reach down to undo her jeans.

Bracing one arm back across her chest, he pushes the other hand down inside her knickers to cup her mound, smiling in pleased satisfaction when his fingertips find wetness there.

"Oh, you're soaking  _already_ ," he murmurs appreciatively, enjoying the way d'Artagnan gapes at them both, at Aramis' hand disappearing beneath Constance's jeans, the way he clutches at Porthos' neck, drags him in for a messy kiss. "Not that I'm surprised. I mean, just look at the three of them together. Such a pretty picture, and all for our benefit." He dips his fingers into the wetness, drawing it forward and dipping between the folds of her labia for the first time, making her moan in his arms and try and jerk her hips away from his hand.

"Sensitive? It's alright, I've got you," he coaxes, dipping in and out of her folds with the pads of his first two fingers, trying to work out where she likes it best. "Why don't you tell me where to touch you?"

"Just... back a bit... yes, there," she moans, her hand pushing a little on top of his, guiding him.

Aramis circles steadily with his fingers and lets her get used to his touch, and as she relaxes beneath his hand he lets his attention return to d'Artagnan, mouth open and eyes still wide on the two of them as his hips jerk upwards of their own accord now, fucking his cock into Porthos' fist. Athos is watching as intently as if he's taking notes, Aramis decides, one hand resting proprietary on d'Artagnan's quivering stomach and the other in d'Artagnan's still, gripping hard.

"What do you think then, Constance? Is he going to come for us?" Aramis asks, left hand pushing back up beneath her jumper to knead her breast again as the fingers on his other hand start to explore all of the sensitive skin between her lips, making her moan anew.

"I'm - close -" d'Artagnan gasps out; and when he looks at Constance in wordless pleading, Aramis can feel himself falling for them both just a little bit more.

"Yes," she tells him, "yes, yes," as Aramis' fingers speed up against her clit and d'Artagnan groans long and loud and arches his back as he comes hard and messy over Athos' hand on his stomach and Porthos' fist on his cock and his own skin.

Everyone - even Aramis - stares when Athos lifts his hand to his lips, and casually licks away d'Artagnan's come.

As the attention in the room moves away from Athos and back towards them, Aramis realises that Constance is the only one in the room being touched right now. He can feel her tensing up, uncomfortable with being on display like this; and he cocks his head at Porthos where he's passing d'Artagnan a tissue, in a wordless  _I need you here._

Porthos all but drops the tissue in d'Artagnan's hands, and gets to his feet - still fully-dressed, Aramis notes, though he's lost his socks at some point - and walks over to them, resting his hands on Constance's waist. "That's quite a boyfriend you've got there," he says gently. Aramis' fingers never stop moving. "Can I?"

"Please," Constance breathes, as Porthos leans over to kiss her, starting to run his own hands over her body above her clothes, moving to give Aramis a teasing peck on the lips that he decides he definitely wants more of later before returning his attention to Constance. 

Anchored between them, Aramis feels her body relax again as her gasps and moans turn regular against Porthos' lips, pulling him close against her and shaking into a climax between their bodies, as one of Porthos' hands moves to Aramis' side, stroking just above the waistband of his jeans.

Aramis pulls his hand back a little and cups Constance's mound again through her comedown, mindful of her becoming sensitive, as he alternates between kissing her neck and Porthos' lips until she settles again; and then he slides his hand free, turning her in Porthos' arms to kiss her deeply.

When he lets her go and looks around for the tissues, he finds them on the bed next to d'Artagnan, who's sitting naked in Athos' lap - him still fully clothed - and they're kissing, a slow, gentle exploration of each other that between Athos' patience and d'Artagnan's satedness, Aramis imagines could last for hours.

He'd never thought of Athos as the lots-of-kissing type, and there's a definite tenderness to this he wouldn't have expected; but though it galls him to admit that there are facets of sexuality he doesn't entirely understand, he supposes he shouldn't really be surprised.

He's slept with Athos once before, both several years ago and before they really knew each other at all; and he remembers it as a fun, slightly-drunken, slightly-aggressive-in-the-best-way fuck that had no particular emotional resonance for him at the time, Athos having made it perfectly clear beforehand that he wasn't looking for a relationship.

If he'd realised just how important Athos would become to him - that he'd become  _family,_ no less - then Aramis would have paid a hell of a lot more attention.

Still. The past can't be undone, of course; there is only the present, and what he makes of it.

He undoes his jeans, kicking them off and dropping his open shirt on the floor on top of them, climbing onto the bed in T-shirt and boxers, and putting a careful hand on d'Artagnan's bare thigh. 

"Is he treating you well?" he asks playfully, stroking over the fine dusting of hair beneath his fingers.

"Yeah, I'm good," d'Artagnan replies. He sounds a little dazed, Aramis decides, and his lips are thoroughly kiss-swollen.

He turns then at the sound of a thump behind him, twisting around just in time to see Constance hitting the mattress beside him, Porthos stretching himself out along her side. She's down to a vest top and knickers, and her bra's gone too; and as she looks up at d'Artagnan, it's almost funny the speed with which he scrambles out of Athos' arms to go to her.

Aramis shares an amused look with Athos; but when the moment fades, he's left feeling unusually nervous.

He makes himself hold out a hand, holding his breath until Athos takes it in his.

As often when he's feeling vulnerable, he resorts to a little confession.

"We're more alike than I realised, you know."

Athos raises an eyebrow; but he's smiling as he says, "Is that right."

"Yes, it is." Aramis cocks his head at the other three, kissing and caressing each other beside them, taking their time. "What's most important of all - to the both of us - is this. What's right here in this room." Not the fucking - he knows that Athos knows that - but the five of them together.

Though their reasons are different, like Athos, Aramis knows that he will never find that one person who is the answer to every question he's ever had, who will become his world and he theirs, like Constance and d'Artagnan are to each other. Instead he will love often and indiscriminately, following the call of his roaming heart wherever it may lead - and always, always coming back home.

Athos shifts up onto his knees, places his hands lightly on Aramis' bare thighs; and Aramis wants for a moment to say  _I love you_ , but he's not sure the moment's right, that Athos is ready to hear it and understand it in the way that he means it, and so instead he just leans in to brush their mouths together and murmurs, "Family."

And while Athos doesn't reply immediately, he lets Aramis see the emotion in his eyes for just a moment before he smiles a little dangerously, runs his hands up Aramis' thighs to the seam of his boxers and asks, "Is this your way of saying that you want me to fuck you?"

And Aramis can't help laughing aloud, because this is  _glorious_ , it's everything he wanted and more. "Not quite, but far be it from me to look a gift horse in -  _oh_ ," his words become a breathy moan as Athos' hand closes abruptly around his cock, squeezing appreciatively through his boxers.

"You talk too much," Athos informs him, a second before he's straddling Aramis' thighs and Aramis is being very thoroughly kissed.

When Athos eventually eases off and Aramis comes back to earth just a little, he looks over at a particularly large gasp to see Porthos' head between Constance's legs, which are slung over his shoulders, d'Artagnan lying next to her with one hand in Porthos' hair.

"Shall I fuck you on all fours, so you can watch?" Athos asks, following the line of his gaze - and  _God,_  it's tempting for a moment, but Aramis knows it's not quite what he wants from this.

"Actually, I'd rather be on my back," he replies, stripping his T-shirt off as soon as Athos releases him enough to do so, and plumping up one of the pillows. "There's lube in the bedside table."

He falls down into place beside d'Artagnan, who half-turns, looking awkwardly at Aramis' lips for a moment before Aramis realises he's the only one d'Artagnan hasn't kissed yet, and leans forward to do just that.

"Enjoying yourself?" he murmurs against d'Artagnan's cheek, twisting his body a little and reaching out to put a  hand against his jaw.

" _God,_  yeah," d'Artagnan replies with feeling, the hand that's in Porthos' hair moving to find Constance's, resting it on his own hip. "This is just - wow."

"I'm glad," Aramis grins, tucking a lock of d'Artagnan's hair behind his ear, shifting his hips automatically as he feels Athos pull his boxers down and off, leaving him naked. "Have you ever been fucked? Because if you want to learn, Athos is the person to watch right now."

D'Artagnan looks sharply to Athos where he's hitching up Aramis' legs and rolling a pillow beneath his arse, and then back to Constance, moaning and surely close again beneath Porthos' mouth, as if he's not sure he wants to leave her.

"Go," Aramis says, kissing him on the nose, "I've got her."

As d'Artagnan gets up, Aramis shuffled himself over into the place he's just vacated - ignoring Athos' tutting of disapproval as he moves right off the pillow he's just put in place beneath him - and guides Constance's head onto his shoulder, murmuring, "Hey," and pressing a kiss to her forehead, where a thin sheen of sweat is beginning to form, smiling down at her as she opens her eyes briefly to look at him before letting them fall shut again, reaching for his hand.

It's tempting just to let himself drift for a little, enjoy the warmth and the primal joy of finally connecting with all his favourite people; but there's so much to see, and he doesn't want to miss a moment of it. Constance's iron grip on his hand as she starts to writhe, the edge of Porthos' satisfied grin against her clit, one of his hands reaching up to her breast, d'Artagnan pulling on his T-shirt and boxers again and sitting down just behind Athos between Aramis' legs, face serious as he watches Athos reach out with his left hand to stroke Aramis' cock back to hardness -  _God_  that's good, it's the first time he's been touched this evening and he was more than ready for it - the two fingers of his other hand just glistening in the light before he presses them a little chilly against Aramis' arsehole, rubbing his knuckles there, making Aramis groan in appreciation just as Constance gasps out her climax against his shoulder, burying her face in his neck as he puts his arm around her and pulls her in.

"Just gonna wash my face," Porthos says as he sits up, smiling broadly, and Aramis is vaguely aware of him rubbing Constance's hip with his hand before disappearing from the room; but now it's becoming harder to concentrate, there's a hand on his cock again -  _Constance's_  hand this time, God, she really is amazing - and Athos' fingers pressing inside, d'Artagnan with his arms around Athos' waist and his head on his shoulder, and a look of rapt concentration on his face as Athos says, "It's nothing like vaginal sex. It's both much more sensitive - go twice as slow, at least to start - and the muscles need to be well-stretched in order to accommodate a penis. Or a toy, of course."

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Porthos' voice, as he comes back in through the open door. 

"Very little, I think," Athos replies. "D'Artagnan's just learning about anal."

"And Constance is getting cold," Aramis adds, as she shivers against him. "There's a hoodie over there somewhere, why don't you put it on? And you're welcome to a pair of my boxers, I remember those knickers of yours being pretty soaked."

"And whose fault was that?" she replies archly, but unable to completely disguise her affection for him, pushing herself up from the bed and kissing him on the lips as she goes in search of clothing.

Athos is taking his time, Aramis decides, pushing two fingers back and forth inside him, gently brushing over his prostate, not even rubbing - but he doesn't mind, he decides, welcomes the long, slow build of arousal deep in his belly and the chance to watch everybody else: Porthos sitting down beside Athos and kissing him, and Aramis realises they haven't done this yet, and he's so,  _so_ glad he gets to see it, the way Athos seems to melt just a little against Porthos the way everybody does, leaning into that broad chest that always feels to Aramis like home, groaning as Porthos' hand cups him through his jeans.

"I've got an idea," Porthos rumbles, grinning in that way Aramis knows so well, "Why don't I take over here for a bit, and you let these two get you naked?"

Aramis wonders for a moment if Athos is going to refuse - though he's not sure if it's he's just projecting his own fears or if Athos really does fall that still for a moment, expression that closed - but then he nods, already sliding his fingers slowly out of Aramis, making him groan with it. "Alright. Give me a shout when he's ready to get fucked," he replies, as if he couldn't care less; and  _God,_ Aramis knows he's never told him, but that apparent disinterest is enough to ratchet up his arousal another notch.

Porthos gets rid of his jeans before sitting back down between Aramis' legs in T-shirt and boxers, and slicking up his fingers with a smile; and they've had each other enough times that Aramis knows exactly how this is going to go. That Porthos will be slow and diligent, his fingers blunt and firm, and that he'll bring Aramis right to the edge before backing off, because he knows Aramis can't stand being fucked after he's already come and that he loves nothing more than to be right out there on the high wire, poised and ready to fall.

And next to him, Constance - now swamped by Aramis' shooting club hoodie - and d'Artagnan are working together to strip Athos of his shirt, kissing and touching every bit of skin they can reach, before encouraging Athos onto his back, where he shifts up the bed until he's lying next to Aramis, Constance laying herself along his far side and d'Artagnan kneeling between his legs, unbuttoning his jeans. 

Aramis reaches over to curl his hand against Athos' shoulder, and sighs in happiness when Athos shifts even closer so that they can rest their heads together, even just about kiss if they both strain their necks.

Then Porthos rubs his fingers firmly against Aramis' prostate for the first time, making him groan and reach down until Porthos takes his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Athos curls his fingers between both of theirs. 

Aramis pushes his free hand beneath his pillow and under his head, giving him a better angle to watch d'Artagnan pulling Athos' jeans and boxers down and off, followed by his socks, before staring nervously for a moment at Athos' erection, curving up to his belly.

"Don't do anything you don't want to," Athos says, his voice a warning; but d'Artagnan shakes his head,  _no, I know,_ before steadying one hand on Athos' bare hip and reaching out for his cock with the other.

Aramis knew he hadn't given Constance enough credit for her willingness to get involved, but when d'Artagnan's mouth follows his hand down onto Athos' cock, he realises he hasn't given d'Artagnan nearlyenough credit either.

And he's really going for it, Aramis can see: sucking at the head and swirling with his tongue, pushing his lips down and down until he gags, and Athos says, "Slow down, there's no rush," moving his hand from Aramis' and Porthos' to ruffle d'Artagnan's hair with that fond affection he seems to reserve exclusively for him.

Constance is watching them too, eyes hungry; and when Aramis leans over Athos to look at her and says, "Do you like it?", she only hesitates for a moment before nodding.

"I thought I would, but -  _God_ ," she replies, and Aramis laughs.

"Actually seeing it is something else, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah. We - talked about it, once or twice. Not about you three, of course, but - in the abstract. What we'd do if the opportunity presented itself. We wanted someone we knew and trusted, though. Not a stranger."

"Well, you can always call upon me for new experiences, I hope you know that." He's not close enough to kiss her, but he disentangles his hand from Porthos' long enough to reach across and boop her on the nose, smiling when she giggles in surprise.

"Will you two be quiet?" Athos grumbles, his hand still tangling in d'Artagnan's hair. "I'm trying to get blown here, and you're distracting me."

"If Aramis is talking, that means he's ready," Porthos quips, rubbing his fingers back over Aramis' prostate once more before carefully sliding them out of his body; and it's probably fair, Aramis decides, he does feel just about ready for Athos, who's sitting up now, pulling d'Artagnan into a filthy kiss that's all tongues - and is d'Artagnan hard again already?  _God_ , to be twenty-one again.

Meanwhile, Porthos climbs up Aramis' body and moves in to kiss him with more enthusiasm than finesse, grinding his erection into the hollow of Aramis' hip - and Aramis can taste soap and a little bit of Constance on his upper lip where Porthos has missed in his cleaning, and he licks at the spot appreciatively, laving it clean with the flat of his tongue.

"Don't let me come," he pleads, as Porthos rolls off him again to let Athos push Aramis' legs up to his chest; and he knows that Porthos knows what he means, that he wants him to fuck him as well; and his grin is blinding for a moment as he kisses Aramis once more, deliberately biting at his lower lip.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he teases, sitting back and putting his arm round Constance's waist where she's cuddled up against d'Artagnan, all of them watching.

Not that Aramis minds being the centre of attention, of course. In fact, he's rapidly deciding that the more people in his bed, the more people there are to watch him get fucked, the better.

He looks back down between his legs where Athos is rolling a condom onto his cock, before reaching forward to push Aramis' legs just a little further back against his body, rolling his hips up before guiding himself inside.

_Fuck_ , it's intense. He always forgets, no amount of fingers can prepare him for having a cock inside him, for just how full he feels like this, spread open and exposed, his hand reaching out for Porthos', feeling three sets of fingers reach for him in turn. 

Athos pushes in slowly up to the hilt, looking over at d'Artagnan and Constance and saying, "You need to give your partner a bit of time to get used to you. It's best to wait until they say they're ready for you to move," like he's delivering a fucking lecture, Aramis thinks, his face starting to heat and his desire building even further. 

He's expecting Athos to drape himself forward over his body when Porthos says, "Don't touch his cock," and Athos smirks in reply and just braces himself against Aramis' shins, saying calmly, "Of course, with someone as slutty as Aramis, I tend to find they're happy to take whatever you give them," and between the impact of Athos' words on his hindbrain and the way he's starting to thrust, slow merciless rolls of his hips, Aramis can't help the bolt of arousal shooting through him as he gasps, gripping Porthos' hand even tighter and reaching down to stroke Athos' side with the other hand, whatever he can reach, wanting to pull him even closer than is possible, to climb inside him and stay there forever.

After that, he loses track of pretty much everything except how good it feels to have Athos inside him, the ache of his protesting muscles only heightening the pleasure as they fall into a rhythm, every thrust wringing gasps and groans from his mouth until he feels half-hollowed out by them, begging  _please, please, touch my cock, please_.

"Nah-ah," Porthos replies, clambering over Constance and d'Artagnan's laps to take Aramis' face in his hands. "If he touches you you'll come too soon, and then I can't fuck you as well. I don't think you want that, do you?"

"No, no," Aramis concedes, breathing the words against Porthos' lips, kissing him gratefully, though by this point it's little more than him gasping into Porthos' mouth as he feels Athos finally lose control, hips stuttering and groaning as he comes.

"I think that's my cue, babe," Porthos smiles against his mouth, giving him one last peck on the lips before moving down between Aramis' legs, where Athos is pulling out - and  _God_  that is  _not_ what he wants, that is the  _opposite_ of what he wants, and it actually takes him a moment to remember why it needs to happen, what he's getting next.

"I'm going to get rid of this," Athos says, gesturing towards the condom dangling from his softening cock. "Don't let him come before I get back."

"Alright," Porthos replies with a grin, reaching for a condom of his own.

"Porthos. Could you chuck us one?"

Aramis turns his head in surprise, just in time to see d'Artagnan snatch a condom out of the air, as Constance wriggles her way out of Aramis' hoodie, shifting over again so they're almost touching as d'Artagnan pulls Aramis' boxers off her and braces himself over her body, pushing his fingers inside her.

Aramis is just about to say something appreciative when he's rudely interrupted by Porthos pushing the head of his cock inside him, and his head drops back to the pillow with a groan, his waning desire coming back full-force.

Porthos is bigger than Athos, and it's even more intense, aching anew as Porthos pushes Aramis' legs wider apart and even further back, rolling forward over Aramis' body, and Aramis strains up to kiss him as Porthos bottoms out inside him.

"Give me a moment," he breathes, so full it's nearly unbearable.

Porthos replies, "Yeah, just say when," turning with him to watch d'Artagnan pushing Constance's vest top up to clamp his mouth around her nipple as he thrusts his fingers in and out of her, drawing even louder, harder sounds from her than either Porthos or Aramis managed.

He notices Athos come back in the room, Porthos turning to meet his eye; and Aramis can't see what passes between them, but Athos pulls his clothes back on before coming to sit up on the bed on Aramis' left, where there's most space, reaching for Aramis' other hand and holding it in his lap.

"Well," he says, with the ghost of a smile, "don't stop on my account."

_I've been told_ , Aramis thinks, as he breathes, " _Now_ -" and then Porthos thrusts and Aramis nearly arches off the bed, all higher brain function deserting him as he's plunged back into that world of sensation, even further than before. 

Porthos  always pushes the limits of what he can take, and Aramis  _loves_  him for it, all he's aware of his grip on Athos' hand and his cries mixing with Constance's, Porthos' lips on his again and the slide of his cock in and out, hot and hard and dizzying sensation, his own cock trapped between them, the friction wonderful and yet not nearly enough. 

_What do I have to go to get you to touch me,_ he thinks at Porthos, though the only word he manages to get out of his mouth is, "Touch -"

"Ask nicely," Porthos growls, sinking his teeth into Aramis' neck; and it's halfway enough for him to feel like he's going to come then and there, though he knows from experience that he won't come from Porthos' cock in him alone, that he needs that extra stimulation to tip him over the edge.

"Please," he gasps against Porthos' temple; and is rewarded for it when Porthos grins up at him, saying with amusement, "Alright then," before he shifts himself back enough to get a hand between their bodies, finally -  _finally -_ wrapping it round Aramis' cock.

_God -_  he's not going to last - he's not - 

"Athos," he murmurs, "Athos," needing nothing so much now as to be kissed; and Athos obliges, getting down beside him and sealing his mouth over Aramis', as he's thinking  _God, I love you both so much, love you all -_

That's when he loses control, his orgasm starting at the base of his spine and pushing through him like a shock wave, his gasps nearly shouts into Athos' mouth as he jerks in Porthos' hand and clenches around his cock and comes, comes, comes, hears Porthos' groans as he follows not far behind.

He's brought back to himself a few moments later as his arse starts to protest, every nerve ending saying  _get it out, get it out_ ; and as he pushes himself up on his elbows Porthos is already pinching himself at the base and slowly pulling out, Aramis gritting his teeth because he's never liked this bit, but there's hardly anything to be done, he knows, he just has to get through it.

He turns his head to one side to see d'Artagnan still on top of Constance, covering her upturned face with kisses, both looking over at him with soft, sated smiles.

Aramis reaches a hand out to caress both their faces in turn, feeling a tiny pang deep inside his chest at the thought that it's over, that try as he might he can never make these things last forever.

He makes himself wait until both d'Artagnan and Porthos have gone and disposed of their condoms and then returned, and everyone who was naked is busying themselves with pulling on some clothes again, to say what's on his mind.

"Alright, so I'm just going to throw this out there," he says, smiling reassuringly when everyone looks at him with varying degrees of nervousness, "I had a great time, and I think we should keep on doing this. Not all the time, we've all got our own things going on -" which he thinks is a turn of phrase that neatly encompasses both Constance and d'Artagnan's relationship, and his and Porthos' ways of being, as well as Athos' - "but every now and then. When we all feel like being intimate with each other."

Porthos, coming to sit next to Aramis, says, "Sounds good to me."

Constance looks to d'Artagnan for confirmation, before nodding. "Our relationship comes first, obviously, but - count us in."

Athos visibly hesitates.

"I... don't fall for people," he says in the end, looking at Constance and d'Artagnan; and Aramis' hand twitches with the desire to reach for him, but knowing Athos wouldn't welcome it, reaches for Porthos instead, curling his fingers into Porthos' palm. "And the last thing I want is other people falling for me. It tends to get messy. Especially when they're people I already... care for, very much."

It's the closest Aramis has ever heard him come to admitting his feelings.

"Well, I'm in love with Constance," d'Artagnan replies, his hand tightening around her waist, "and while I'm really glad we can do this, don't get me wrong - I think my heart's pretty much occupied."

Athos inclines his head, with the ghost of a smile. "Then I suppose I'm in as well."

Porthos grins. "Well, in that case - shall I put the kettle on?"

Aramis knows the danger of projecting, especially where Athos is concerned, but he reflects as he pulls his jeans back on that he really thinks this is going to be good for him, as for all of them. Their love for each other - and the ways they love each other - have never been in question; and now he gets to show it in the best way he knows, in every possible permutation. 

He meets Athos' eyes, and grins.

The future's going to be pretty good, he decides.


End file.
